


Girl Crush

by LasciviousPeach



Series: country song AU [1]
Category: Hamilton - Fandom
Genre: Angst, M/M, Pining, Song fic, Unrequited Love, he only likes her because she’s with alexander, short and sweet 2019, thomas doesn’t actually like eliza
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-12 01:54:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17458385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LasciviousPeach/pseuds/LasciviousPeach
Summary: Thomas has got it bad, but not in the way you think.





	Girl Crush

**Author's Note:**

> shamelessly inspired by Little Big Town’s song, “Girl Crush” which i do not own. i simply love it and it inspired me to write this angsty little drabble about unrequited love. if you haven’t listened to it, i cannot recommend it enough.

Thomas has known he was gay since the sixth grade, when he was paired up with William Tench for a school project. The kid had sent him a smile over two dozen printouts about the American Revolution, and Thomas was gone. 

He hasn’t thought of a girl since. Well, he hasn’t until now. 

Thomas hates admitting it, but he’s got a girl crush. 

A constant collage of her face plays, on repeat, in his head. The way she smiles - full lips pulling over straight, white teeth. The way her long, black hair cascades like a waterfall over her shoulders. The way she looks up, from beneath her lashes, and the skin beside her eyes crinkles ever so slightly. The way she laughs, like chimes blowing in the wind on a warm Virginia night. 

He’s got it real bad. 

He wants to taste her lips. He wants to run his fingers through her hair, to pull her close and feel the warmth she radiates. To drown himself in her perfume. 

But, the funny part is, he doesn’t like her. But she’s the closest he’ll ever get to Alexander. 

Thomas lays awake at night, staring at the ceiling and trying to stop thinking about her. The way that her lips must taste like his. The way he must smell of her perfume. The way his hands must glide across her skin. 

Jealousy burns just below the top of his skin. 

He doesn’t get any sleep these days. He gets no relief from the onslaught of images in his mind. 

Of Eliza kissing Alex. Of her pulling him close. Her lips curving up as she teases him, dragging her long fingers through his hair. The way she whispers under her breath, drawing him closer with her lips between her teeth. 

He wants what she has. Her laugh, her hair, her eyes. Whatever she has that makes him like her. He thinks that maybe, if he was more like Eliza, Alexander would like him back. 

His longing is easy to hide. He buries it under decades of hate, spite, and sarcastic words. He hates Alexander. Hates the way he makes him feel. Hates the way Alexander will never want him back. 

So he makes rude comments, tries desperately to stifle the jealousy that simmers in his stomach at the sight of them together. But he watches, wishing with every bone in his body, that he was Eliza. He sees the way she trails her fingers across his cheekbone. The way her eyelashes flutter adoringly when he says something sickly sweet, and Thomas’ fists clench. 

He wants to kiss her, knows her lips will taste of coffee and Alexander. He wants to run his fingers through her hair, knows that he’s touching the same hair Alexander touched. 

It’s a shameful kind of desperation. The kind that burns, hot and sick, in his stomach. The kind that twists and turns, prods and pokes until he can do nothing but give in and allow his eyes to trail after them. 

He gets no peace from these torturous thoughts. What she would feel like pressed against him, the same way she presses herself to Alexander. Those fingers running across his own jaw, those fingers still warm from Alexander’s skin. 

He pictures them together. Pictures her in Alexander’s embrace, her soft lips trailing across his collarbone. Pictures the way she cuddles closer to him, desperate for the feeling of his skin on her own. 

Thomas rolls over in bed, stares at the blank wall across from him, and sighs. He stays there, wrapped in a blanket of his own misery, and prays for the relief he knows he won’t get. 

He’s stuck on her, stuck on him, stuck on them. 

He’s got a heart rush for it. For the torture they bring him. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think Alexander was doing it on purpose. The thought alone is somehow worse. The thought that Alexander could know about how he feels. He’d rather live with the torture of his girl crush than to face humiliation at the face of his love. 

He closes his eyes and dreams of Eliza. 

// 

The next day is more of the same. He watches, from the privacy of his desk, as Eliza - sitting on the edge of Alexander’s desk - throws her head back in laughter. The sound is deafening and so damn beautiful. He watches the long line of her neck, watches as Alexander’s fingers trail softly over the delicate skin there, and turns his attention back to his work. He’ll have time to pine after Elizabeth Schuyler later. It’s become somewhat of a routine. 

It’s two days later when Thomas comes back from lunch to see Eliza, wearing a silky blue dress that falls just to her knees, at his desk. Her hair is parted in the center, tied back into a low ponytail. She’s staring over at Alexander’s desk, the smallest curve of a smile on her lips. 

Thomas clears his throat, and her eyes dart to his. She smiles, beautiful and radiant, and all Thomas can feel is disdain. Not towards her, but towards himself. 

“Can I help you, Eliza?”

She smooths down the front of her dress and lets Thomas walk past her, dropping down into his desk chair. 

“I’m having a party this weekend. Just a small thing, with some work friends, and I thought I’d see if you’d like to come.”

He allows himself one second to be surprised, and then cools his reaction. He blinks at her, glances down to her fingers twisted nervously in front of her dress, and feels guilt boil in his stomach. He casts his gaze towards Alexander’s desk again and then looks back at her. 

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

Her smile dips a little, barely a fraction, and he wouldn’t have noticed if he wasn’t paying extra attention to her lips - the same lips Alexander kisses - and her eyes are soft. 

“If you’re reluctancy is about Alexander, I assure you he’ll be on his best behavior. I told him I was going to invite you, and he promised to be civil.”

Thomas almost rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t want to be rude to her. “I don’t know if Alexander being civil is possible.” He can see the disappointment in the line of her shoulders and the tilt of her nose, and he feels guiltier than before. “But I’ll think about it.”

Her smile is back, beautiful and like sunshine, and Thomas imagines this is what it must be like to be Alexander. He imagines having her smile at him like that all the time, and he understands - just barely - why Alexander loves her so much. 

“Great. I’ll email the details.” She turns to leave before stopping and speaking over her shoulder. “I really do hope you can make it, Thomas.”

That night, he dreams of Alexander and he hates himself even more that before. 

Eliza is a good girl, a nice girl, the exact kind of person that Thomas could never hope to replace. She is better than him, perfect, and Thomas is flawed. 

It’s not until eight thirty that Friday night, that Thomas decides to attend the party. He drags himself into the shower, imagines how Eliza must be trying to look good for Alexander too, and pulls on an old outfit straight from the hanger. 

He picks up his cologne, remembers the way Eliza always smells like lavender and vanilla, and sits it back down. There are so many ways in which he cannot compete. 

Their apartment is exactly how he imagined it. Tastefully decorated, lively, and lived in. There are pictures scattered among the furniture, pictures of Alexander and Eliza smiling at the camera, and pictures of them too caught up in each other to pay mind to the camera, and his heart aches. 

She greets him with a hug when she sees him, and he awkwardly offers her the bottle of wine he had brought. Eliza pulls him into a conversation in the kitchen, and he’s situated close enough to the living room, that he’s able to see Alexander talking animatedly with John Laurens. 

He doesn’t pay much attention to the conversation, only chiming in occasionally with monosyllabic words, but he must say something funny because Eliza is laughing now - clear and melodic, and reaches out to rest her hand on his arm. He can feel the warmth through his shirt sleeve, and he longs to pull her closer. 

Thomas excuses himself shortly after and makes his way to the bathroom. He splashes cold water on his face, and stares at himself in the mirror - begging himself to get it together. He leaves eventually, water still dripping from his eyelashes and his face numb from the cold. 

He rejoins the group in the living room, and watches as Angelica grabs Eliza’s hand and pulls her onto the makeshift dance floor. Eliza twirls in her sister’s arms, her dress spreading out around her, and she is stunning. Her dress shimmers, gold and blue, and Thomas can’t look away. 

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”

He turns to see Alexander next to him, hands shoved into the front of his rumbled jeans, a faraway adorning smile on his lips. 

Thomas turns to look back at Eliza. Her long, black hair that Alexander threads his fingers through. Her soft lips that must taste of him. The gleam of love in her eyes that must shine at Alexander. The graceful curve of her fingers that must glide across every inch of Alexander’s skin. 

“Yeah,” Thomas says, without looking away from her, “She is.”

He hates to admit it, but he’s got a heart rush and it’s not going anywhere.

**Author's Note:**

> say hi on my tumblr: lascivious-peach


End file.
